


Wanderlust

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-20
Updated: 2007-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:45:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1634687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of the brothers MacManus, taking place prior to the events of the movie. Rated "R" for language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanderlust

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the brothers MacManus. I did not make any money off of this, I promise.   
>  An infinite amount of thanks would never be enough to express my gratitude to my beta, Tro. She is awesome beyond words.
> 
> Written for Katarin

 

 

Connor MacManus stared up at the massive building - all gray slate and glass the color of seafoam, windows glittering in the mid-morning sunlight. The din of traffic and the bustling crowd quickly disappeared as he stared at his image in the glass. His reflection looked so small, huddled on the sidewalk with a duffel bag clutched to his chest.

"Connor!" Murphy poked his head around the other side of the building, "Connor, c'mere! Come look at this!"

Connor followed his brother around the corner of the building, and was immediately hit by a wall of sound. The noise was overwhelming, and he swayed uncertainly as the blood rushed through his ears. A hot, wet wind ran across the marshes, blowing Connor's scraggly hair from his face and giving him an unobstructed view across the wetland.

Murphy was standing on a curb in front of a tall wire fence that separated the sidewalk from the marsh beyond, a duffel bag at his feet. He hooked his fingers into the wire and turned to grin at Connor.

"Fucking huge, ain't they?"

"Nngk." Connor said in reply, staring at the collection of airplanes sitting on the runway on the far side of the marsh. He watched with unconcealed horror as a tiny man in a florescent green vest waved a couple of orange sticks at an enormous jetliner, guiding it off the tarmac and out of view.

"Wow - look at that!"

Connor looked, and wished he hadn't. Another jetliner, roaring through the air like a gigantic, silver bullet, was touching down at the opposite end of the airport. Even from a distance, the noise was practically deafening. Connor closed his eyes as the jet disappeared behind the vast architecture of the terminal. He counted silently under his breath, waiting for sound of metal crunching and twisting; waiting to see a huge fireball explode upwards into the sky.

There was no sound, aside from the distant roar of jet engines and Murphy's gleeful commentary.

"What's the matter, Conn? You afraid of flying?"

Connor opened his eyes and glared at Murphy's smirking face.

"Course not." He snapped, loosening his grip on the duffel bag. His fingers ached.

This was generally true. Connor wasn't afraid of flying, because he'd never flown before. But he'd seen plenty of movies where things didn't go as smoothly as planned, and the only stories about airplanes he ever read in the paper were the ones that ended in fire and ashes. As far as Connor was concerned, if the only way a person could get airborne was to be hurtled through the air at a million miles an hour in a thin metal tube, they probably weren't meant to fly in the first place.

Besides, Connor had fallen off the roof of the house once, and he didn't enjoy the thought of repeating the journey from a mile in the air.

"Y'are too, you big pussy." Murphy grinned.

"Am not!" Connor pressed his face against the fence and stared at the airplanes. "I just don't get how something so _big_ can fly."

Murphy shrugged, and put a cigarette to his lips. "It's fucking lift, man."

Pushing off from the fence, Murphy stuck his arms out wide and circled around Connor, making little guns with his fingers and pretending to shoot his brother. "I like the ones with bombs on 'em."

"Quit fucking around, Murph." Connor reached out and slapped his brother's head, nicking his cigarette in the process. He took a deep drag and felt the calm wash over him. The airplanes sat on the tarmac, waiting.

"So if you're afraid of flying, how do you expect to get around?" Murphy's grinning face obstructed Connor's view.

Connor shrugged and handed the cigarette back to his twin. "Same way Jesus did."

Murphy laughed, and Connor let the sound wash over him, calming him. "Yea? You gonna walk all the way to America?"

The silence was deafening. America was a topic of conversation that Connor avoided, if only because he had no idea what to say about it. It was some massive, irreversible change, some colossal _thing_ looming in front of them like an iceberg.

It was Connor who had told his brother that he was bored with life and that they should get out and see more of the world; but by "the world" he meant "Ireland". Murphy had suggested Boston and Connor had agreed, on the basis that it was so far away Murphy would probably lose interest and besides, he was probably joking anyway.

Except here they were, a year later, their wallets a few hundred quid lighter and their entire lives crammed into matching duffels. Pants, shirts, socks, and an extra pair of boots. Their tickets and papers were stuffed into the pockets of their coats, along with an extra hundred quid, a departing gift from old Uncle Séamus. Matching rosaries, a present from their mother, were tucked carefully under their shirts.

"Hey, Conn." Murphy's voice was soft and close to Connor's ear, and he turned to see his twin staring at him intently. "You still wanna go?" Murphy's face looked so open and honest. There was the tiniest flicker of hope in his eyes. "'Cause if you don't, just say so, and we won't go."

And the thing was - _Christ_. The thing was, Connor loved his brother. And he knew that Murphy loved him. And Connor knew that if he were to say that no, they shouldn't go to America because it was a scary fucking place and Connor had just been joking when he said he wanted to leave, then yes, Murphy would turn and walk away from that airport and never look back; he would never question Connor's choice. But maybe Murphy would get a vacant look in his eyes every once in a while, and maybe his smile wouldn't be as wide.

But that was the thing about Murphy - he got an idea and ran with it. He jumped headfirst into everything, not caring what happened to him, not caring about the consequences. Because he knew Connor would always be there, watching his back, ready to fish him out of trouble, or maybe even join in. And so Connor had become the level-headed twin, the twin who thought ahead, the twin who was always looking after his brother, because he _had_ to. Connor worried for the both of them, because Murphy never did.

Connor thought about all of that as he looked his twin in the eye. After a moment he smirked, wrapped an arm around Murphy's shoulder, and plucked the cigarette from his brother's lips, finishing it off.

"Aye, let's go. Plane ain't gonna wait." Connor's voice was a little weaker than he would've liked, but Murphy's face lit up with a grin, and Connor forgot about his fear...

 

...until about thirty minutes later, when he sat frozen in the airplane seat, staring at the airline pamphlets with wide, terrified eyes and wondering just how much he loved his brother, _really_.

The airplane was rolling smoothly across the runway, although Connor would probably not have used the word "smooth" to describe it. He was sure he was going to vomit at any moment, and was not comforted by the fact that there were little bags for this very purpose tucked into the pockets of the seat in front of him. Connor gripped the arm rests of his seat with such force that his hands and wrists were nearly white.

"Hey, Conn! Look!" Murphy jabbed him in the side with an elbow, and Connor opened one eye warily, glancing at his brother. Murphy had insisted on having the window seat and now he had his entire face pressed up against the glass, leaving smudges against it. "Are you lookin', Connor?"

Connor was looking. He was frozen in horror, looking. There were a group of men in vests, waving their little orange sticks, and from around Murphy's nose he could see the tarmac moving below them. Connor closed his eyes again and tried not to think about the fact that the success of an airplane flight depended entirely on men with green vests and orange sticks, standing safely on the ground.

The plane hit a bump in the runway, and Connor began to pray.

There was a garbled message over the intercom, and as the plane started to shift and pick up speed, Connor felt the panic rise in his throat, choking him. The airplane jostled down the runway, and he wondered how it was possible for the pilot to hit _every_ single dip in the tarmac. Murphy's insistent blathering was _not_ helping.

"Oh, man, look at that!" Another jab in the side. "Did you _see_ that?" Connor was pressed back against the seat as the plane took off. " _Wow_ , we're up _high_!" The cabin lurched, and Connor stopped breathing. "Wave good-bye to mum, Connor!"

And then the pressure shifted in the cabin, and the plane stopped swaying back and forth, and Connor stopped trying to swallow his own tongue. After a few minutes the discordant humming of the engines was slowly drowned out by the pleasant chatter of the other passengers. A friendly voice came on the intercom, calm and infuriatingly cheerful, and the smell of hot coffee wafted down the aisle.

"Connor?" Murphy jabbed him in the ribs again. "Connor, you've _gotta_ see this."

Connor was sure that he didn't. He was about to tell Murphy to fuck off and let him concentrate on not vomiting, but suddenly Murphy's hand wrapped around his arm and he tugged urgently.

Connor opened his eyes and Murphy thrust his face in front of the window.

Outside, the thick, puffy clouds beneath the airplane looked like kernels of popcorn. They spread out toward the horizon in a solid sheet, bunching up in places and lying flat in others, painted red and orange by the setting sun. The sky above melted from the dark blues of outer space to a warm, glowing pink near the cloudline.

"It looks so solid, don't it?" Murphy's breath was soft and warm on Connor's ear. "I wanna go out there and walk on it."

Connor found his voice coming out in an awed whisper. "You'd fall right through, you stupid fuck."

They watched in stunned silence as the plane tilted toward the ground, and they glimpsed the rays of the sun breaking through the glowing clouds like solid gold beams. As Connor shoved his face against the glass and his breath clouded the pane, he heard Murphy whispering in his ear.

"I bet that's what Heaven looks like." Murphy said. Connor pulled back from the window, blinking away purple spots from his vision.

"You think so?" Connor asked, as he settled back in his seat and fished the rosary out from underneath his shirt. He rubbed a thumb over the metal and wood of the cross, and then gripped it in his hand tightly. "I wish Ma'd been here to see it."

"I'm just glad you were." Murphy said.

"Aye, me too." Connor leaned back against the airplane seat and closed his eyes. He stroked the crucifix nestled in his hand, and his lips moved in silent prayer.

Outside, the sky was already darkening as the sun dipped below the horizon, and the clouds were slowly turning into strange, lumpy shadows. Absentmindedly, Murphy reached out and grasped at Connor's hand, lacing his fingers with his brother's, before turning to stare out the window.

Connor squeezed Murphy's hand, and smiled. He'd made the right choice.

 


End file.
